


Coming Around Again

by gleefulmusings



Series: Turning Tables [10]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Angsty Schmoop, Canonical Character Death, Hevans is Goals, Kurt Finds Happiness, Kurt Has An Awesome Life, M/M, Not Blaine or Klaine Friendly, Playing With Timelines (Because I Can), Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 15:00:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6663370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gleefulmusings/pseuds/gleefulmusings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I know nothing stays the same, but if you're willing to play the game, we will be coming around again. I believe in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Around Again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sly_fck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sly_fck/gifts).



> **Prompt #6 :** _Home_
> 
> **Author's Note :** Though part of my prompt series, this particular story was inspired by my dearest, Ashes. Hevans because of course. It is unabashedly romantic and schmoopy, because Kurt and Sam are my OTP. No apologies.

Cold regret washed over him like dishwater the moment he closed the car door.

Why was he here? He honestly couldn't remember what the hell he'd been thinking when he'd agreed to attend. Granted, his time at McKinley hadn't been utterly miserable, but it had been close. Mostly he looked back on those years surprised he had emerged with his sanity intact.

It had been a surreal experience in some darkly magical land where stereotypes roared to life and sang and danced until they could escape. The moment he had graduated, he left, ignoring the parties and last-minute reminisces with people who finally understood they had just completed their peak years. He hung in there longer than most of his friends.

The Unholy Trinity, all of whom he had dated briefly throughout his tenure, had left prior to the ceremony. Quinn had departed for a small women's liberal arts college somewhere in New England, he couldn't remember the name, but they had given her a large scholarship that covered everything but room and board. They'd fallen out of touch before that first Christmas, but he'd heard she graduated with a degree in women's studies, with honors. She headed a non-profit agency which focused on training impoverished women for entry-level white-collar positions.

Brittany and Santana had headed south, which had worried him at the time. That was at the height of state anti-LGBT laws, but the girls hadn't cared. Santana had gotten into Emory and majored in political science with a pre-law concentration before moving on to Vanderbilt for law school. She was now a lobbyist in DC.

Brittany had gone to William and Mary and earned a degree, surprisingly, in English Literature. Halfway through her track, she'd decided she was more interested in science than in being an elementary school teacher and began a pre-medicine program. She went to UVA for medical school and graduated with decent grades, specializing in pediatrics. She and Santana were still together, now legally married, and Brittany's practice was literally turning away patients. They were arguing now more than ever about having children.

Mercedes, with whom he had also dallied, had left for Los Angeles the day after graduation. It had taken her six years, but her debut album was a critical and commercial success, earning her three Grammys. Her second followed three years later and was so acclaimed it had launched a two-year world tour. She'd made one movie, her part small yet pivotal, which resulted in a several awards, including an Oscar nomination for Best Supporting Actress. More acting work hadn't followed, but apparently she hadn't cared. She served as a judge and mentor on _The Voice_ for six seasons and was now in the middle of a Las Vegas residency. She married and divorced twice and had one son.

Rachel had graduated from NYADA and done a few minor Broadway roles, but hadn't set the world on fire like she had so desperately wanted. After five years, she decided she could do more good, and make more money, behind the scenes. She applied to and graduated from NYU with a Master's in Business, becoming a talent agent and manager. She had several high-profile clients to her name and lived in a co-op on Seventh Avenue. Her husband was almost twenty years older than her, but they were apparently very happy and had three children, all boys.

It was hard to believe Finn had been gone for almost twenty-five years now. His heart hurt at the thought of it. He and Finn hadn't always gotten along, but they'd been friends, good ones. Sam looked back on those times and wondered as to the man Finn would have become. He rather thought Finn would have come into his own and been the leader he so desperately wanted to be.

Mike and Tina had gone to UCLA together and graduated together, before breaking up not long after. Tina had relinquished the show business bug after leaving Lima and focused on a career that was portable and lucrative, eventually becoming a pharmacist and then a bureau director for the FDA. She now lived in Maryland and, in addition to her government position, taught part-time at the Baltimore campus. She had met up with Artie at a pharmaceutical convention and their romance reignited.

Artie had graduated from MIT with dual degrees in Computer Science and Health Informatics before developing several software programs designed to facilitate the delivery of outpatient healthcare. He worked in the private sector for several years before earning a government contract which had brought him to the convention. Thanks to his connection to Tina, one of his programs was now the primary interface by which the FDA and DEA monitored narcotics. They had one daughter who was breezing through a high school curriculum despite being only nine.

Mike went for a Masters in Drama at Carnegie Mellon after undergrad, continuing to train his voice, which had developed into a warm tenor. Regarded as a true triple threat in the entertainment business, he was perhaps the most successful Asian American actor working. His parts had started out small and stereotypical, his big break coming in the form of playing a teenager in a basic cable show when he was twenty-five. It had lasted for seven seasons and made him a teen idol, an image that was hard to shake.

He finally did with a gritty turn as a concentration camp survivor in a World War II movie. He was still struggling to be seen as a romantic leading man, but he was releasing about three movies a year, all solid parts, and enjoyed a vocal fan community with whom he interacted on Twitter and Facebook.

Puck had foregone college altogether, preferring instead to work as a roadie for Aerosmith during their final world tour. He parlayed that experience into forming his own band, a relatively successful country-rock group popular on college campuses and throughout the South. They didn't enjoy mainstream success but had nevertheless carved out a successful niche for themselves. He had never married and expressed no desire to do so. Beth had gone to live with him when she was a teenager and, from all accounts, Puck was a great dad. Beth was due to graduate from Stanford next year.

Blaine had become a star through sheer determination. He was talented, absolutely, but his only success had been in musicals on Broadway. He had tried to segue into an acting career, but his small parts in films had gone nowhere, so he returned to New York and reveled in the success he had originally found. He had won three Tonys and was still in high demand, despite being a frequent feature in the trade gossip magazines. He had eventually married Sebastian Smythe, but they divorced after less than three years due to multiple infidelities on both their parts. Now Blaine was often seen squiring around young hopefuls barely out of high school who saw him as a mentor and sugar daddy. He wasn't in attendance tonight, for which Sam was grateful.

As for Sam himself, he had gone back to Tennessee and worked for a few years before he had saved up enough for college. It had taken him another six years before graduating with degrees in Music and English, with a specialization in Creative Writing. He wrote songs for a few years, several of which became modest hits for various country-pop divas, before switching focus to fantasy fiction, penning a bestselling series of children's books featuring two boys, the closest of friends, who had to save the world regularly from a host of supernatural threats.

It wasn't until he had the sold his first manuscript that he realized his characters were based on himself and Kurt. He hadn't realized so much about Kurt until it was far too late.

Last year, his first book was optioned by DreamWorks and was currently in production. He had written the adaptation and had a hand in the casting. The moment a small young boy named Owen Winters had entered the room, Sam knew he had found his star. Shiny chestnut hair, enormous blue eyes, and skin that had never seen the sun, Owen looked like all those pictures Sam had seen of Kurt when he was a child.

He'd thought of nothing but Kurt for months afterward. In truth, he'd thought of little other than Kurt for years, starting that first day in the choir room. Sam had always thought he was a little dumb, but never had he believed he was outright stupid. Now he thought of little else.

He had fallen in love with Kurt at first sight. He didn't know why he hadn't declared it then and there. He'd always known he was bisexual and had never cared whether he ended up with a man or woman. He hadn't really cared what anyone thought of him until starting McKinley, wanting a popularity makeover to go with his new hair color. Outside of his family, the only person whose opinion mattered to him was the one person to whom he had never been able to express himself.

He was stupid. He was stupid for coming here tonight, for coming back to this small, insignificant and close-minded town which filled him with nothing but regret. He wondered if the only reason he had shown up was because he knew Kurt wouldn't. He did, however, feel not a small smugness that the most successful people of his class were all former members of New Directions.

He had only really stayed in contact with Brittany, primarily because she was the only one who had contact with Kurt. After Finn's death, Kurt had left Lima before graduation, jetting off to Europe and shutting out everyone but Brittany. Of course, what belonged to Brittany also belonged to Santana, who took every opportunity to lord over Mercedes and Rachel that she had access to Kurt when they did not.

Frankly, Sam was jealous too. He knew he could've picked up the phone and called Kurt anytime – he'd had the number for years – and Kurt would have happily answered, but he had been too embarrassed and too ashamed. And too heartsick.

As for Kurt, his life had become nothing less than a fairytale, a true Cinderfella story.

Kurt, while sitting his third year in Biochemistry at Oxford, had gone to an audition in the West End on a lark, walking away with the role of Puck in a revival of _A Midsummer Night's Dream_. He had earned rave reviews and an Olivier Award. He had then returned to Oxford to complete his degree.

Two years later, he was on the stage again in a re-imagining of _My Fair Lady,_ playing a gender-swapped Eliza Doolittle named Elliot, which set Rachel seething with envy. His acting was once again celebrated, but his voice was worshiped. He won another Olivier and then crossed the Pond when the show moved to Broadway, where he earned a Tony and then a Grammy for the cast recording.

He delivered various versions of the same acceptance speech at each ceremony, thanking his parents and his stepmother Carole, dedicating each trophy to his late brother, Finn. It caused many hurt feelings in their small circle, particularly from Rachel, Mercedes, and Mister Schuester, all of whom felt they had contributed to the performer Kurt had become.

Brittany had told Kurt of this and, according to her, he hadn't stopped laughing for fifteen minutes.

Blaine had then given an interview to a magazine, naming himself as Kurt's inspiration and first love, expounding on their former plans to set New York on fire before Kurt decided he couldn't handle the spotlight. It was nothing but self-serving drivel and even the magazine itself seemed wary of publishing it, though it did.

Kurt was ambushed by paparazzi outside of Heathrow and asked for a comment on Blaine Anderson's interview. He responded with a classic, " _Who?_ "

This enraged Blaine, who responded with a second blistering interview which tried to excoriate Kurt but instead made Blaine himself look like a scorned and bitter rival.

Kurt then pulled a Mariah Carey, with an elegant shrug and an " _I don't know him._ "

Blaine never brought up Kurt's name again.

Hollywood came knocking hard on Kurt's door, but most of the roles he was offered were the stereotypical gay best friend fare, in which he had no interest. After his success on Broadway, he returned to Europe, this time settling in Paris after inheriting his grandmother's title, and enrolled in medical school. The European gossip rags had tried to turn him into a celebutante, but since Kurt was never seen anywhere outside of classes, they quickly lost interest.

All was quiet for the next few years. Kurt graduated medical school with honors and was debating his specialization. Deciding to delay the decision, he returned to England and encountered Mike, who was on the West End starring in a production of _The Joy Luck Club_.

The rags went crazy and followed them everywhere, manufacturing a romance between the two. A few particularly diligent reporters dug up a video of the old commercial New Directions had done for a mattress company. Pictures of Kurt and Mike bouncing around in pajamas on the same bed flooded the internet, but both men refused to comment, sending the speculation into overdrive.

Finally, Mike had given an interview and stated that he and Kurt had never been lovers and were nothing more than good friends. Of course, Sam later learned that, after the interview, Kurt and Mike began quietly seeing each other for several months, their differing schedules eventually driving them apart.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, but he wanted Kurt to be happy and Mike was a genuinely nice guy. The only other ones who knew the truth were Brittany and Santana, as well as Tina and Artie, all of whom had been supportive and sad when it didn't work out. Sam had only felt bad that he didn't feel worse.

The alleged romance was forgotten in the wake of Kurt's next role. He appeared in another gender-swap, this time as Lady Macbeth in a small, independent French production opposite Eva Green as Macbeth. It was an art film and not expected to do much, if anything, outside of France. It debuted at Cannes, where Kurt and Green swept the acting categories and the film itself won the coveted _Palme d'Or_.

It was then picked up by an international distributor and marketed globally, becoming the critical darling of the season, though it didn't fare well commercially. Regardless, Kurt and Eva Green each won a César, a Golden Globe, a BAFTA, an Actor and, finally, an Oscar for Best Actor and Actress, respectively.

Kurt then walked away from it all, conducted postgraduate work in immunology and public health, and gone to Africa to work for Médecins Sans Frontières, or Doctors Without Borders. He was often seen in the company of philanthropic celebrities, but never gave interviews and refused to comment on his previous life as an actor. He also refused to discuss public policy in the war-torn nations he served, claiming he wasn't a politician and lacked the education and expertise required to offer a competent opinion.

He just went quietly about his day, saving as many lives as he was able.

This wasn't a surprise to those who truly knew him; granted, that list was extremely short and Kurt had never really spoken of his dream to become a doctor back in high school. The only one with whom he had shared it was Brittany, most likely because she wouldn't have questioned, only encouraged.

Kurt had arguably been very close to Mercedes and Rachel at different periods back then, but they hadn't done much to look past the surface of who Kurt was, perhaps because the surface reflected themselves, which interested them more. Mercedes had wanted a partner in performance and Rachel thought of Kurt as the male version of herself. They had been content to see little more than what was presented.

Sam supposed that was part of what made Kurt such a good actor: he gave people what they wanted. He had also been close to Kurt at different times, but each of them had always kept parts of themselves removed. He wondered now if that was because they were both afraid of being seen, truly seen, by each other.

He had paid very close attention to Kurt during every performance and what he saw was a boy far more interested in the process than the result, even if said result was always flawless. Kurt was an explorer, and his missions involved searching for himself and new worlds through different media, be it a song or a book or a role.

So many wondered why Kurt had only ever made one film when he had been so lauded, deeming him a one-hit wonder or an insecure narcissist, but Sam believed Kurt had abandoned the spotlight because he wasn't interested in repeating himself. Any subsequent work would have been judged, fairly or not, by that performance and there was nowhere left to go but down. Kurt had walked away on top and, in an industry where everyone loved a good crash and burn story, he had no desire to fulfil the prurient fantasies of a sinister appetite.

Instead Kurt had cast himself in a new role, that of healer, and it was a once in a lifetime opportunity. And he was playing the hell out of it.

Sam was so proud of him. He probably should have told Kurt that.

He should have told Kurt … so many things.

"Hey, Hot Lips."

Sam turned and quirked a brow, saluting her with his glass. "Hi, San."

She smiled and patted his cheek. "It's good to see you, Evans. I'm just surprised to see you here."

"Not as much as I am. I've been avoiding this place like the plague ever since I left." He shrugged. "Maybe it's time to lay some ghosts to rest."

She gave him a slight nod and an understanding smile.

"Where's your better half?"

Her smile grew. "Catching up with Artie." She chuckled and shook her head. "Brit's a brilliant doctor, but she doesn't understand why Wheels doesn't yet have bionic legs."

Sam sniggered. "You two doing okay?"

Santana was silent for a long moment. "We're pregnant."

His eyes widened. "Are congratulations in order?" he asked gently.

"I don't know," she confessed. "I wasn't really consulted. Brittany decided she was going to have a baby before she no longer could and my permission wasn't necessary."

"She went behind your back?" asked a shocked Sam.

"She gave me an ultimatum and I took too long to answer, so she took the decision out of my hands." She sighed. "I guess I can't blame her. I'd been putting her off for over twenty years, Evans."

"Do you want the baby?" he pressed.

She stared down at the floor. "More than anything I've ever wanted in my life." She gave a sardonic chuckle. "Why is it I'm always surprised Brittany knows me better than I do myself?"

"Then why do you seem so ambivalent?"

She gave him a wry grin. "We're not spring chickens anymore, Sam. Hell, ten years ago both of us were considered to be of _advanced maternal age_. There are lots of things that could go wrong."

"How is everything now?"

"All signs point to this being an unremarkable pregnancy," she said with relief, "but that doesn't stop me from being scared out of my fucking mind. What if something happened to Brittany? I can't be a mother by myself! I'd probably end up leaving the kid in its car seat on the roof of my truck!"

He rolled his eyes. "Santana, may I be blunt?"

"I'd prefer it."

"No, you're not what many would consider maternal, but you know why that's wrong? Because I know that you would die for your child. You would kill for your child. The rest you'll learn as you go."

He was surprised by the tears that appeared in her eyes.

"Thanks, Sam," she said quietly. "I really needed to hear that."

He gave her a slight smile and a nod. "Not to be indelicate, but who's the father?"

She rolled her eyes. "Who do you think? Who's the only man Brittany would let knock her up?"

His eyes widened in disbelief.

"Tink, of course. Granted, he agreed fifteen years ago, so the two of them put it … on ice, so to speak."

"Does Kurt know she's pregnant?"

"Sure. They talk every day. Hell, Kurt talks to my wife more often than I do."

"You're not jealous?"

"Of them? No. Kurt's the only one other than me who ever really looked at Brittany and saw her as something more than a generic bimbo from a horror movie."

He gave an absent nod. "I think he saw all of us."

"Probably." She sighed. "Sometimes I wonder if he was upset that most of us couldn't be bothered to do the same, but then I think he probably just told us to fuck off in his head."

Sam smiled. "You always saw him."

"Yeah," she said, exhaling, "which is probably why we weren't friends from the beginning. I wasn't ready to be as brave as he was every single fucking day."

"Yeah," he whispered, dropping his head.

She gently reached up and swept his bangs back from his head. "I'm glad you brought the Bieber back. It always looked good on you." She sighed. "You should have told him, Sam."

"Told who what?" he mumbled.

She scoffed. "Yeah, right. Seriously, Trouty Mouth, you think you were the only one? We were all in love with him."

He swiftly brought up his head and stared at her.

She quirked a brow in response. "Really? Okay, let's go through the list. First you have Tina and Artie, his oldest friends in the world. They only ever got together because they knew they couldn't have him. Not romantically, they were too young for that, but I remember what they were like in elementary school. They were a perfectly functioning triad. They did everything together, including finishing each other's sentences. Everyone hated it because they didn't have it themselves. It was totally some _Stand By Me_ shit.

"Next you have Hudson … Finn. Now, I wasn't the idiot's biggest fan, but I knew him in ways no one else did, and you better believe he had mad love for Tink. He didn't have the foggiest fuck what to do with it, so he turned it into gay panic, but when their parents got married? You couldn't have separated them with a crowbar. Being Kurt's brother was the only safe way Finn could express how much he loved him, and he did it often and didn't give a shit what anyone thought of it. I know, I've _seen_ , how badly Kurt has mourned him. For _twenty-five years_ , Sam." She shook her head. "Only Kurt's mom beats that record.

"As for Berry and Jones, you know the stories there. Each of them thought that if Kurt had even one kernel of heterosexuality, they'd ride off with him into the sunset. Even though they knew he was gay, they nursed that hope and punished him when he couldn't deliver it."

He grimaced and nodded, knowing it was true.

"Then you have the so-called Unholy Trinity. Yeah, Quinn was in love with him. He hit all the right buttons for her. He was beautiful, smart, kind, and completely incapable of betrayal. He gave her hope, too, that there were still good guys in the world and that, maybe, one day, one of them would find her and give her the things he couldn't.

"As for me and Brit, well, _duh_. I looked into Tink's eyes forty years ago in fucking kindergarten and it was like looking into a mirror, only it was a funhouse mirror because everything got distorted. He remained true to himself and got hell for it, but he never backpedaled, never apologized. People feared me, Sam, but even the people who tormented Kurt still respected him.

"And we both know that if that kernel of hetero was real? He'd have married Brittany when they were twelve in some square state that allowed it. You hear about opposite-sex life partners all the time, but that term was invented for them. If Kurt believed in souls, you'd better believe Brittany would be his soulmate."

He smiled and gave a respectful nod.

"You know about Mike. You think that just started in England? Hell no. You never met Matt Rutherford, he left the term before you got here, but he had an enormous crush on Kurt – just not the backbone to do anything about it. Matt and Mike shared everything. _Everything_. Brittany's still in touch with Matt, because she's in touch with everyone she's ever met, and when Matt found out Mike and Kurt had hooked up all those years ago, he was angry. And hurt. And bitter. Still is. He didn't let it come between him and Mike, nothing could do that, but it ripped his heart out."

"Are you going to tell me Puck was in love with Kurt, too?" he scoffed.

"Ask yourself that question, Evans," she snapped back. "Who's the only person the Puckhole has ever allowed to call him by his given name?"

"Rachel called him Noah."

"Did he ask her to? Did he ever encourage it? Did he even fucking respond when she did? No." She huffed. "When he assumed custody of Beth, he had me draw up a will to make sure she'd be taken care of if anything happened to him. Guess who he named her guardian?"

Sam offered an exaggerated blink in reply.

"Not his sister. Not the half-brother. Not even Quinn. He chose Kurt. A portion of his share of his band's record sales goes to Doctors Without Borders. He fundraises for them at every concert. He has an honorary seat on the Board of Directors for the U.S. division." She paused. "And how do you think he was able to afford to send Beth to Stanford?"

"Huh?"

"You're a writer now. Be more eloquent."

"Is he still in love with Kurt?"

"I don't know. I haven't talked to Puck in probably ten years. You weren't here for most of the drama that went down between them, Sam. Their history is convoluted, bordering on obscene. The things Puck did …" she trailed off, shaking her head in anger, "… and Kurt forgave him. Do you really believe Kurt would forgive someone who wasn't truly sorry? Once Puck figured himself out and realized why he had acted that way, he was terrified and terribly ashamed. He went on hands and knees to beg forgiveness. And that's not a euphemism."

"I can't believe I didn't realize this sooner," he said quietly.

"It's pretty fantastic." She laughed. "I mean, think about it: the boy who was so used and abused by everyone in this room turned out to be, in the end, the one who held us all together. He left the country so he could be free to be himself, and we all fell apart."

She waved a hand. "Yeah, we've done well for ourselves, but don't you ever wonder how different things would be, how different _we_ would be, if he had stayed?"

"All the time."

She sighed and put down her wineglass. "It's almost time." She growled. "I can't believe I agreed to this."

He gave her a half-smile. "Do you still remember your part?"

She rolled her eyes and looped her arm through his. "Let's go and find out if Berry still tries to autofellate herself when handed a microphone."

"That was an image I didn't need."

"Why should I be the only one in pain?"

Right before they reached the door to the backstage, he stopped. "I missed you, Santana."

"Yeah, well … ditto."

* * *

Sam couldn't believe how easily they fell back into their old roles, though the passage of time was marked by stiffer hips and some vocal diminishment. Still, they sounded terrific and the nostalgia of both their performance and _Don't Stop Believing_ had the entire audience dancing and cheering. It was fairly ironic, considering how badly New Directions had been derided by the school, even when they won. Especially when they won.

Mercedes sounded better than ever, being firmly entrenched in her vocal prime, and, to her astonishment, had to take over for Rachel during some of the high notes. Rachel was still ridiculously talented, but she hadn't sung professionally in years. Apparently this hadn't occurred to her because she didn't bother to rehearse, probably because it had never before been necessary. The most shocking part was how effusively she thanked Mercedes for coming to her rescue. Time and children had managed to make Rachel Berry gracious.

Puck, Mike, and Sam had taken on additional parts, as well. Puck and Mike still sang for their supper, Puck more so than Mike, and Artie, like Tina and Quinn, didn't. Artie, Tina, and Quinn still sounded lovely, but their ranges weren't quite what they had once been thanks to disuse and age. Santana was still a powerhouse but no longer hidden in the shadows, meeting Mercedes note for note. Mercedes had even asked Santana to duet on her next album, thinking the time was right to bring back _The Boy is Mine_.

Sam had continued training on his own and was rather proud his tone was richer and his vibrato tighter than what they had once been. He only sang now for his own pleasure and was thus surprised when the other guys, even Puck, had backed off in some measures to let him shine.

Brittany had also improved, thanks to her own training, which Sam suspected had been inspired by Kurt. It had always bothered her she had never gotten to sing with him back in high school.

Still, there were notes missing, there was _feeling_ missing, and Sam wasn't the only one to notice they left a space open for Kurt. He even caught Mr. Schuester's forlorn eyes resting more than once on that empty space.

Oh, and Schue's hair was still ridiculous.

* * *

Sam circulated around the room, exchanging banal pleasantries with those he knew from the football team and Cheerios. Most of them had never gotten out of Lima but, on the surface at least, they were kinder people. Middle age tended to yield toward mellowness.

Most were surprised he was now a writer and then stunned when he mentioned the series he had written. Their excitement was tangible and perplexing. Almost all of them were familiar with his books, having read them to their kids and even reading them themselves. He wondered how they felt about the last book, in which it was implied, but never outright stated, that the two boys ended up together.

Maybe their views had changed. Maybe having children had brought about that change. Whatever the impetus, he was happy for the acceptance and accolades, even signing a few autographs.

After an hour, he was ready to leave. Truthfully, despite the success of the evening, he had been ready to leave before he got there. It was already going on eleven and he had an early flight. His body was no longer capable of being pushed the way he once had. Still, he wasn't that anxious to return to his generic and empty hotel room.

Seeing the others had been nice, but all it did was drive home just how alone he truly was. He was happy for Santana and Brittany, and Artie and Tina. The others were either married or in relationships, but he was alone. He suspected now he always would be. Unconsciously or not, he had carved out a space next to him twenty-five years ago and reserved it for one person. It was still reserved.

He supposed he should feel pathetic or just plain stupid but, for whatever reason, he didn't. He loved Kurt, always had and always would, and even if they would never be together, he could never regret loving that boy. His Angel.

He had slipped up once and called Kurt that out loud. He had never been so embarrassed in his life, despite the fact Kurt had always had numerous nicknames for him. But _Angel_ had been so personal, so private, and so reflective of an absolute truth he had needed to share, even unwittingly.

And Kurt had halted in his tracks and looked into Sam's eyes, a look so filled with love and contentment, such utter tenderness, that, even now, Sam had to remember to breathe.

_I love you too, Sam_.

Kurt had loved him, just not the way he wanted. And that was okay. It had been then and it was now. He'd rather love Kurt and suffer for it than never love him it all.

But now …

Had he been right, back then? Had Kurt only loved him as just a friend, or something more? He remembered there being a pause. He remembered Kurt seeming to wait for Sam to fill it, but he never had.

Oh, god.

Had he been so taken aback, so overjoyed by that declaration, the he had missed his chance?

Tears sprung in his eyes and he hurriedly spun around to fiddle with the centerpiece on the banquet table, but not so quickly that he didn't see Santana and Brittany notice and make a beeline toward him. Damn.

"What's wrong, Sammy?" Brittany whispered, laying her head on his shoulder.

He took in a shaky, ragged breath. It felt like he was breathing through a wet cotton rag on a humid summer day. The edges of his vision were graying and everything turned the color of burned-out lightbulbs.

"Did he love me too?" he whispered plaintively. "Did I just not see it?"

Santana closed her eyes.

"Oh, Sammy," Brittany murmured, her own eyes wet, "you really didn't know?"

He choked on a sob, flinching when Santana's tiny hands came to rest on his shaking shoulders.

All these years, all that time. _Wasted_. He wanted it back!

He felt the others surround him then, time once more slipping away, and it was like they were back in the choir room. He heard Mercedes' concerned coos and Rachel's strident demands to know what was wrong so she could fix it. He felt Tina and Artie waiting for him to make the first move so he didn't feel crowded. He felt Quinn sending him silent strength. He felt unwelcome commiseration from Puck and Mike.

"I've missed you all so much," he said.

And then he was tackled and felt a dam in his chest breaking open.

How had he survived this long without them? Why had they only depended on Kurt to keep them together? Was it really so hard to pick up a phone or send a text? Even at their worst moments, they had always been a team. God, how he'd missed that. He only realized now how badly he'd been mourning it.

It was so strange that those bonds, which had once felt so immortal, had been rendered merely ephemeral thanks to their own inaction.

He heard an opening swell of music.

And then he heard the singing of angels.

Of _his_ Angel.

" _Someday, somewhere, we'll find a new way of living_ …"

That voice. _The_ voice. The one that had haunted his dreams from the first moment he'd heard it.

It was still beautiful. It was still the purest sound he had ever heard. But it was richer, slightly deeper, even more controlled, now titanium gloved in velvet. It was more assured, more confident, and he desperately hoped it was for him.

He quickly scrubbed his face with a hand and turned around to see Kurt standing not ten feet from him, a spotlight trained above him and shining off his hair, giving him a burnished halo.

Sam inhaled sharply. Kurt had changed, but he hadn't. He had always hated being called pretty; now he was stunning. Sam had to force his ankles to lock so he wouldn't swoon like some Disney princess.

The hair was longer and with a slight wave, wispy curls swaying in a breeze that simply wasn't there. It was streaked with blonde from the African sun and with white from age and wisdom. Sam wanted to run his fingers through it, just to know if it was still as soft as it had been that night all those years ago when he caressed it as Kurt slept.

_Gossamer_. It had been like gossamer, silky stands which had fallen through his fingers like a gentle rain.

He was taller, broader in the shoulders, waist still trim and legs ridiculously long. He wore white tie and was the most overdressed and magnificent person in the room. He looked like some leading man out of an old forties movie.

He was tan, no longer porcelain, and glowed with health and vigor. Fine lines were etched around those remarkable eyes, which now gleamed with something Sam had always feared he'd never find there: peace.

Sam wanted to laugh: Kurt was singing Streisand right under Rachel's nose.

He ignored the startled gasps and furious whisperings, blocking it out as he should have done all those years ago. He had eyes only for Kurt, who was staring back at him as if Sam Evans were something precious, a key to a lock Kurt had closed when they were young and unknown to each other.

"… _we'll find a way of forgiving. Somewhere_."

And all was forgiven. Was there even anything to forgive? Perhaps himself. Perhaps he could finally forgive himself for not saying what he'd been waiting to say for over twenty years.

" _There's a place for us_ ," his Angel sang, soothing him and causing his heart to thump loudly in his chest. " _Somewhere, a place for us. Peace and quiet and open air wait for us, somewhere_."

The notes were gentle, almost sighs, a longing so ardent, Sam felt it pass over him in wave after wave of desire. Once Kurt would have sung those words to himself in a bid of assurance and placating, but now he was singing a quiet and sincere declaration. His pacing, while always exquisite, had impossibly improved, lending no doubt that it was Kurt who controlled the song, not the song him.

And that's when Sam truly understood.

Kurt was here for _him_.

Kurt wanted _him_.

_Kurt Hummel had crossed an ocean. For him_.

Sam ran scenarios through his mind. He needed to call his attorneys. He needed to call his housekeeper and ask her to become his caretaker, because, while he couldn't bear to sell the ranch, he was leaving tonight. He didn't need anything but the clothes on his back. He had his wallet and passport. He had his phone and laptop. He could have anything else he needed shipped to wherever he went, be it Africa or the North Pole or some South Pacific island where he'd get Kurt naked faster than physics would understand.

He would call his parents and Stacy and Stevie tomorrow, or the next week, or the next year. Whenever he and Kurt could be bothered to pause their lovemaking. Second chances like this didn't come around very often, if ever, and Sam Evans was determined this would be the one night in his life in which he wasn't stupid.

" _There's a time for us_ ," the Angel promised, tone steady and unyielding, " _someday there'll be a time for us. Time together with time to spare, time to learn, time to care_."

These weren't just words, Sam knew, these weren't just verses. These were oaths.

These were _vows_.

" _Someday, somewhere!_ "

Today. Anywhere. Absolutely anywhere.

" _We'll find a new way of living_."

Together, as they were always meant to be.

" _We'll find there's a way of forgiving. Somewhere. Somewhere, somewhere_."

Africa. Tennessee. The moon. Sam didn't care where, as long as it was with him.

And his breath caught in his throat the moment he saw Kurt take in a deep breath of his own.

" _There's a place for us_ ," the Angel swore, his voice slipping seamlessly into his lower register, that sensual tone Kurt had used far too little in high school, before an enormous vocal sweep which could have touched heaven itself, " _a time and a place for us_."

It was so gorgeous, so achingly gorgeous. His voice thrummed with strength and power and a vibrato that almost sounded like machine gunfire, it was so confident.

"What the hell are you waiting for, boy?" Mercedes demanded. Loudly.

" _I've_ been waiting for this for a lot of fucking years!" Rachel hissed.

"Go, you idiot!" Santana encouraged.

"It's time to get your happy ending, Sam," Quinn murmured in his ear.

Brittany literally pushed him out onto the floor.

Right! He was supposed to move now. He was supposed to be in Kurt's arms.

" _Hold my hand and we're halfway there_ ," the Angel sang, his smile so blinding Sam almost had to turn away, he was so overcome.

A dumbfounded Sam stopped and stared as Kurt flung out his arm in welcome, his hand cupped toward him, beckoning him forward. His fingers, so long and elegant, which had once awed Sam as he watched Kurt play the piano, now awed him for an altogether different reason. It was a surgeon's hand, a healer's hand, and it was a lifeline.

His entire life had been building toward this moment and he had no regrets. He didn't have time for them anymore. Whatever happened, whatever he and Kurt had to go through to get to this moment made everything else worth it, because this was everything.

This was the beginning of his life, of _their_ life.

" _Just hold my hand and I'll take you there!_ "

Perfect glissando. Masterful ascension in keys with no loss of pitch.

Sam reached out and grasped Kurt's hand desperately, every cell in his body awakening and rejoicing when contact was made. First contact, because this was the first time they had ever held hands where both of them understood what it meant. And, yes, he still made _Star Trek_ references.

Kurt turned their touching palms toward the sky and interlocked their fingers, joining them, tears streaming down his face. Sam would never let him go again, not tonight and not for the rest of their lives.

" _Somehow!_ "

Sam gave an owlish blink. Kurt was belting. Loud and proud and his voice soared. Sam would swear he could see the notes pouring forth from Kurt's mouth. They were golden. This was exaltation.

There was a crash of drums that echoed like thunder and Sam felt as though it was Finn's blessing.

" _Someday!_ "

Another crash of drums. _I trust you with my brother, Sam_ , Finn had once said and was seemingly reiterating. _You're the only one I trust that much._

Had Finn known then?

" _Somewhere!_ "

As Sam marveled at Kurt's fermata, delivered free of vibrato and trailing off until his voice became indistinguishable from the instrumental, he became aware of a band now sitting on his ring finger, claiming him in front of God and His entire Kingdom.

Then the performance was over and silence reigned. Sam felt as though the whole of time and space had paused to grant him this one perfect moment.

"Marry me."

Later, Sam wouldn't remember crying. He wouldn't remember saying yes. He wouldn't even remember if he had said anything at all. This time, words weren't necessary.

His lips found Kurt's own and it was as though the final missing piece was laid in place. And, as it was, they became gods in a new world which had just opened only to them.

Then there were cheers and applause and screams of joy. There was New Directions surrounding them like a pride of lions, keeping them safe and secure. There were balloons falling from the ceiling and the whispered death threats of Sue Sylvester hissed in his ear.

None of it mattered. He had come home and found his home, and there was no place like home.

Thanks, Glinda.


End file.
